The Many Marvels of a Parking Lot

There’s this parking lot near the marina that happens to be my favorite. I suppose that the idea of having a favored parking lot might seem idiosyncratic to people in other parts of the country. But here, no. Here, parking lots matter .

Anyway, this parking lot is the one that surrounds Marina del Rey’s big shopping center just off Lincoln. There must be room for 10,000 cars in this lot and, of course, it’s never enough. There are so many fights over spaces that the management has hired a squad of beefy guys who roam the asphalt in ATVs to act as referees.

But that’s not my attraction to this lot. It offers something else that’s special. For reasons I do not understand, this lot amounts to a frontier of sorts. The cars that come here seem to do things that other cars don’t. Or, more correctly, they seem to do them first.

I’m talking about that range of behaviors--threats, bluffs, whatever--that cars can now perform to ward off the unwanted advance of thievery. If, as as we all know, prevention of car theft has become an obsession in Southern California, then the cars in this lot reveal where that obsession is headed.

For example, this was the place where I first encountered the Perpetually Beeping Car. You are familiar with the Perpetually Beeping Car? Most likely yes. They have become endemic these days and seem to inhabit every neighborhood.

But if not, let me explain. The PBC emits a beeping sound that continues eternally, idiotically, whenever the car is left unattended. This beeping sound can be regulated by the owner to be subtle or not subtle at all.

The beep is intended as a threat. It says, “Don’t mess with me. I am a dangerous car. I may hurt you.” Of course, the car cannot hurt anyone, but it’s the message that’s important.

As far as I can tell, the PBC first appeared around 1988. Now, on some nights, you can walk down the rows of cars in the marina lot and pass one beeping car after another. There are so many beepers, they’ve become passe.

Perhaps that’s why, a year ago, the Talking Car first appeared. The Talking Car does just that: When you approach too closely, it talks to you.

I remember my first brush with a TC. It happened as I was headed through the lot and walked within a foot of a black Mustang. The conversation was so thrilling I wrote it down.

“Warning!” said the car. “You are too close to this vehicle! Step back now!”

I stopped in wonderment. But I did not step back. The car then launched into a verbal count down.

“Ten, nine, eight . . . “ it said.

After the countdown reached zero, there was pause. I waited; the car waited.

Then suddenly it let go with a shriek. “I have been tampered with!” the car wailed. The car lights began to flash. The horn sounded.

By this time the car had attracted an audience of four or five people. We all stood there laughing, feeling slightly sorry for the black Mustang. So we moved away and the wailing stopped.

“Thank you,” said the car.

The Talking Car was so amazing, I decided to find the inventor. He turned up, sure enough, in Canoga Park.

His name is Mike Nykerk and he’s 30. The Talking Car, he said, basically consists of a microwave beam that surrounds the auto body like an envelope. When the beam is interrupted, a tiny computer starts the conversation and keeps it going until the beam says the violator has retreated.

That’s all it does, he said. The Talking Car is just a way to humanize the standard car alarm. Right now, it’s the state of the art, but in the future, who knows?

That was a while back. The other day I was cruising the marina parking lot again when I passed a certain Mercedes. It caught my eye. The whole thing was elevated about a foot off the ground.

I stopped and looked. The Mercedes was held in the air by four jacks that appeared to have descended automatically from the undercarriage. They were holding the car in suspension until the owner’s return.

To get the car off the jacks--and therefore to steal it--you would need a blow torch.

An Elevator Car! It was the newest thing!

Maybe this was Mike’s doing, I thought. Maybe this was Mike’s way of making sure he would remain the champ of the marina lot.

I didn’t know but, for some reason, I hoped so. I told myself to give Mike a call.